


Benefit

by asterismal (asterisms)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Anal Sex, Boss/Employee Relationship, Dubious Consent, M/M, Oral Sex, Power Imbalance, Sexual Harassment, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:48:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23473477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asterisms/pseuds/asterismal
Summary: “It won’t happen again,” Harry says to his reflection later that day. “It’s a bad idea. You have standards, and Riddle is awful.”His gaze drops to the bruise on his neck, and he prods at it, hissing at the ache.“Okay, fine,” he says, twisting so he can see it better. “Whatever. It’ll probably happen again.”a boss/secretary prompt fill
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 28
Kudos: 1309
Collections: Corona Challenge





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [Destiny_Of_A_Dragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destiny_Of_A_Dragon/pseuds/Destiny_Of_A_Dragon) in the [CoronaChallenge](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/CoronaChallenge) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Harry had been desperately looking for a job. He was down on his luck, about to lose his apartment, and all his friends couldn’t help much, all barely having enough to survive themselves. 
> 
> So when a rich businessman fires his secretary right in front of him, and then turns to him and asks if he’d like a job, there was no way Harry could say no.
> 
> But since when was bending over a desk and spreading his legs part of the job description?
> 
> so, obviously none of tom’s behavior in this fic is appropriate. if you ever encounter someone irl who treats you like tom is treating harry, stab them. or, idk, report them to the relevant authorities. whichever you prefer
> 
> also condoms are super great. don't be like harry and tom.

He hears them before he sees them.

Having lived in London for four years, now, Harry is no stranger to all manner of yelling in the street. On any other day, this might be the moment he turns around and finds a different route to take. But he’s running late for an interview, and his favorite coffee shop is just down the street. So, with a resigned sigh, he shrugs his messenger bag higher on his shoulder and sets off down the street.

When he finally finds the source of the yelling, he stops to stare. He isn’t the only one.

The woman doing most of the yelling is gesticulating wildly, her cheeks flushed with rage. The man she’s yelling at appears to have been doused in coffee, and the look on his face is frighteningly blank. Both are impeccably dressed, and Harry feels more uncomfortable than ever in his loosely fitting blazer.

“—I QUIT!” The woman finishes her tirade, breathing heavily.

The man looks down his nose at her. “I assumed that was a given,” he says dryly. He doesn’t gesture to his coffee-soaked shirt, which is sticking to his apparently well-formed chest in a way that must be uncomfortable, but Harry’s eyes are drawn there anyway.

The woman is trembling with rage. “So that’s it?” she demands.

“Did you expect me to beg?” the man asks. He scoffs. “I assure you, I couldn’t be happier to be rid of you.”

The woman looks as if she might start swinging. “I should have quit _months_ ago."

The man smirks. “I agree.”

The woman snarls, then, getting in his face. “You’re lucky I didn’t you bastard, you utter _cunt.”_ Harry feels his eyes widen. Someone behind him gasps, and when he looks over his shoulder, he exchanges a grimace with his fellow witness before turning back to the drama. “You’re despicable. You—”

The man cuts her off before she can finish. “You,” he says, cold anger coloring his voice, “will be lucky if I don’t press charges.”

The woman sputters. “That’s ridiculous!”

This time, the man gestures to his shirt. “That drink you threw was quite hot; I suspect I might have a burn. And then there’s the price of this shirt to consider…”

The woman looks as if she’s tasted something sour. For a moment, Harry wonders if she’s going to try and apologize, but she doesn’t. Instead, with one final glare, she turns on her heel and storms down the pavement.

Harry steps hurriedly out of her way.

Now that the drama is over, he huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

Honestly. Some people.

Just as he’s decided to set off for the coffee shop again, the man turns to look over the people who’ve stopped to watch, seemingly unbothered by the way they all stare or hurriedly avert their eyes. When his gaze falls on Harry, he stops, and a considering look steals over his face. He strides toward him, and Harry has to fight the urge to take a step back.

Instead of stopping once he’s close enough, the man moves to circle him. Harry holds his breath, tense and not entirely sure what’s happening.

“Are you employed?” the man asks from behind him.

Harry blinks in surprise, caught off guard by the question. “What?”

When the man finally steps in front of him again, he looks less than impressed with Harry’s response. “Do you have a job?” he asks, slower this time.

Rather than explain that yes, actually, he’s currently working three part-time jobs that barely pay enough to cover his flat, he lies. It’s often easier, with this type. He lifts his chin and says, refusing to be embarrassed, “No.”

“Hmm.” The man’s gaze drags down his body, and Harry feels the absurd urge to pull his bag across his chest. “Would you like one?”

Harry’s mouth drops open. “What?” he asks again, breathless, certain he’s misheard. When the man only raises an eyebrow, waiting, he clears his throat. “I mean— With you?”

“With me,” the man confirms. “I’ve recently found myself in need of a new secretary.”

“Right,” Harry says. He still isn’t entirely this is actually happening. “What time is it?”

The man’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t try to ask why Harry wants to know. “Half past nine,” he says.

Damn.

He’d been scheduled to go in for his second round of interviewing at a tech startup at ten after, and he doubts they’d appreciate him coming in so late. Then again… Maybe he doesn’t need to go in at all.

“What if I’m not qualified?” he asks.

“Are you?”

Harry bites his lip. “Erm. I suppose?” When the man gestures for him to explain, he clenches his hands around the strap of his bag. “I was an administrative assistant for a couple years—”

“Then I’d say you’re overqualified.”

Harry huffs. “Well, actually,” he begins to explain, “a secretary is—”

Instead of even pretending to listen, the man pulls out his mobile to respond to a text, and Harry stops talking, feeling a surge of sympathy for the man’s former secretary. If this is what he’s always like, maybe he deserved that cup of coffee to the chest. The man steps closer, then. Harry feels a flutter of nerves when he has to tilt his head back to meet his eyes.

“Do you accept?” the man asks.

Considering he’s been without a full time job for four months now, surviving by the grace of his rapidly dwindling savings and the combined—but still meager—salary from three different part-time jobs, it’s hardly a difficult choice.

“I do.”

He begins his new job the next day, working as the newest secretary for one Tom Riddle.

When Harry looked him up the night before, his head had spun when he’d scrolled through a list of the man’s accomplishments. He’s prominent. Powerful. When he considers the man’s behavior, Harry can’t say he’s surprised.

So far, the work is easy enough, though he knows it’s only because he’s just getting started, and Riddle’s calendar isn’t overly full just yet.

No, the problem isn’t the work.

The problem is the _people._

The first time he tells someone he’s Riddle’s new secretary, the man he’s talking to pales and looks briefly horrified before pity takes over.

Five different people have wished him luck, all with the sort of tone that tells him they don’t expect luck to be enough. 

It’s maddening.

Sure, Riddle is rude at best, and Harry feels almost… on display whenever the man looks at him, but he isn’t _that_ bad.

At the very least, Harry’s had enough shitty bosses in his life to know that it could be worse.

By the end of the week, he feels mostly settled into his new position. Settled enough, at least, that he’s ready to tell his friends about it and share the good news.

One of his final tasks from the day is collecting a stack of files from a law firm just down the street. When he’d asked if he was allowed to look at them, the woman who’d given them to him had only laughed, patting him on the head before sending him on his way.

So he doesn’t feel bad about flipping through them as he takes the lift back to his floor, determined to have them organized before he even approaches Riddle’s door. By the looks of it, someone had dropped them before he arrived to pick them up and simply shoved them into a haphazard pile.

When he knocks, Riddle waves for him to enter, and Harry does, holding the files under one arm as he uses the other to catch the door behind him and close it gently.

“What is it?” Riddle asks, not looking away from one of his monitors.

“Files from Bellatrix Lestrange,” Harry says. He shakes his head, frustrated. “She wouldn’t tell me what they’re for, said you’d know, but I organized them by—"

Riddle waves his explanation away. “Fine,” he says, “Come here.” Harry steps forward from where he was hovering by the doorway, rounding Riddle’s desk when the man gestures for him to come closer. “Lay them out for me.”

Harry looks from Riddle’s chair to the only open space on his desk, which is right in front of where he sits. He’d need to lean over another stack of papers to reach, and he just knows he’d bump into them.

“Erm.” His grip tightens on the files.

Raising one sardonic eyebrow at his dilemma, Riddle pushes his chair back from his desk, but he doesn’t get up. So Harry finds himself in the awkward position of having to stand carefully between the edge of the desk and Riddle’s spread legs, leaning forward across the desk to properly set the files in order and giving the man what he can only imagine is an uncomfortably close view of his arse.

A broad palm curls over the back of his thigh, just below the swell of his arse, and Harry almost knocks the files off the desk.

“Hmm,” Riddle says as he squeezes, kneading Harry’s flesh. “We’ll need to do something about your wardrobe.”

His face flushing, Harry hurriedly finishes organizing the files, doing his best to ignore the uncomfortable warmth that blooms under Riddle’s palm. Once he’s finished, he steps firmly out of reach.

When he turns back to face his boss, Riddle looks unconcerned, as if nothing about what just happened was strange.

“My wardrobe?” he asks after a beat, deciding not to acknowledge that fact that his new boss just… just _groped_ him.

This is the first full week he’s gone without going to bed hungry in months.

He _needs_ this job.

“Considering your new salary, it’d be a shame not to put you in something that fits. And anyway, this is a place of business, Harry. We can’t have you wandering about, looking like you’re playing dress up in your father’s trousers.”

“Hey! I’ve had these trousers for years, and—"

“It shows,” Riddle interrupts, casting a disdainful look their way.

Harry grits his teeth. He needs this job, he reminds himself. He can’t afford to punch his boss right in his smug face.

“I’ll get right on that, then,” he says after taking a steadying breath. “Is there anything else you need from me?”

Riddle leans back in his chair, folding his hands across his stomach. He drags his gaze down Harry’s body, the weight of his attention making it difficult to breathe, and says, “Not yet.”

Harry takes that as his cue to go home for the day.

As he kicks the door to his flat shut behind him, he shrugs off his blazer and throws it over a chair and goes to unearth the bottle of whiskey Sirius bought for him months ago, as consolation for losing his first real job since he graduated.

Unwilling to drink alone, he calls Ron and Hermione.

By the time Hermione arrives, Harry is well on his way to comfortably drunk, and Ron is close behind. At the sight of them, she sighs and goes to pour herself a drink before joining them on the floor.

Eventually, Hermione raises the question of _why_ they’re sitting on the floor of Harry’s flat and soaking their livers in alcohol.

When Harry tells them, it takes Harry throwing himself at Ron’s legs to keep his friend from storming for the door, vowing to hunt Riddle down. Hermione joins his efforts, sitting atop her boyfriend’s chest and holding him in place because although he could absolutely dislodge her, he’s too soppy over her to actually do it.

What follows is a long argument, with Hermione attempting to convince him to quit and Harry pointing out the many reasons why he can’t.

Neither of them really win, but in the end, Harry still refuses to quit his job and Hermione has seemingly resigned herself to his bullheadedness.

“Fine,” she snaps as she rises to grab the bottle of whiskey from the kitchen. When she returns, she sets it onto the floor between them with a thunk. “Don’t quit. But when you find yourself sprawled across his desk one day, don’t come crying to me.”

“Wow. Rude,” Harry says with a pout. 

He accepts the shot she pours for him anyway.

When Harry arrives on Monday morning, he finds Riddle is already in his office.

He doesn’t bother knocking. “Can I help you?” Riddle asks dryly.

“I want to talk about what happened on Friday.”

“Oh?” Riddle looks curious. “What happened on Friday?”

“What happened—?” His mouth drops open in disbelief. “You— You _molested _me.”__

Riddle scoffs. “I’d hardly call it that.”

“No? Because last I remember, you touched me without my permission. Sexually.”

Riddle rolls his eyes. “You can’t honestly be surprised.”

“Yes, actually, I can!” Harry stalks forward. He plants his hands on Riddle’s desk and bends closer, glaring. “You hired me to be your _secretary.”_

“I hired you because you have an arse I’d like to fuck one day,” Riddle tells him, and Harry flushes at the blunt words, feeling as though a flood of boiling water has been dumped loose in his veins. “Although, I must admit,” Riddle continues blithely, “it’s quite the bonus that you’re actually qualified.”

Harry sputters. “This is harassment!”

“And?”

“What do you mean, _and?_ I’ll report you—”

Without warning, Riddle’s hand darts forward, gripping Harry by his shirt and hauling him forward across his desk, forcing their lips together. When Harry takes a startled breath, Riddle licks into his mouth. He tries to pull back, but Riddle doesn’t let him, tilting into a new angle and scraping his teeth against Harry’s tongue.

Harry shudders, his fingers scrabbling for purchase against Riddle’s desk.

Finally Riddle releases him, and Harry stumbles back from his desk, pressing one hand over his mouth as he struggles to catch his breath. “What the _fuck—”_

“You won’t report me.” When Harry only stands there, fuming, too mad to speak, Riddle smirks. “You see, I had a background check performed when you submitted your paperwork. It’s company procedure, routine, but I found it particularly enlightening this time. Would you like to know why?”

Harry licks his lips, grimacing to find they’re slick with Riddle’s spit. “Why?”

“You need this job.”

“I need _a_ job,” Harry corrects him, waspish. “In fact—”

“Before you do anything you’ll regret,” Riddle interrupts coolly, “Consider the chances of landing a job this good again, especially if you leave in the midst of a temper tantrum after only a week of employment. People talk, you know. It might be difficult to find another employer willing to take a chance on you.”

“Is that a threat?” Harry asks, incredulous.

Riddle sighs.

“Not at all all,” he says. Then he fixes Harry with a dark look, and Harry’s breath catches. “If I ever threaten you, you’ll know.”

Harry spends the rest of the day at his desk outside Riddle’s office, tying to blot out the memory of the man’s tongue in his mouth, of the look in his eye as he gave him his _advice._

He isn’t very successful.

The worst thing is, Harry thinks, Riddle is too bloody attractive.

He almost wishes that, when they’d met, the man had done them both a favor and asked him to dinner instead of offering him a job. If he had, Harry knows he would have said yes, and they’d have fucked by now.

But now that Harry has worked for him, has seen the worst parts of him out in full force, he knows how much of a garbage human Riddle is, and each day makes him only more determined not to fuck him.

It’s tragic, really.

He holds out for two more weeks before his curiosity gets the best of him.

“Hermione was right,” Harry says, his back against the wall and his legs wrapped around Riddle’s waist as the man mouths at his neck.

“Who?” Riddle asks, distracted.

“No one,” Harry tells him, gasping when Riddle nuzzles behind his ear. “Just a friend.”

“Hmm,” Riddle says, then sucks a bruise into his skin.

“It won’t happen again,” Harry says to his reflection later that day, still reeling somewhat at the reality that less than two hours ago, he let Riddle fuck the space between his thighs. “It’s a bad idea. You have standards, and Riddle is awful.”

His gaze drops to the bruise on his neck, and he prods at it, hissing at the ache.

“Okay, fine,” he says, twisting so he can see it better. “Whatever. It’ll probably happen again.”

And it does. Usually at the most inconvenient times.

Like when the office is full of other people who could interrupt at any moment.

Harry lifts his head from Riddle’s desk, which he’s been unceremoniously bent over. His cheeks burn. “Someone might see,” he hisses over his shoulder.

Riddle snorts and asks, “With the blinds closed?” He presses an open mouthed kiss to Harry’s neck, then says, “I doubt it."

Harry wriggles beneath Riddle’s weight, grunting in protest when Riddle presses harder against his wrists where they’re held at the small of his back. His shoulders ache. “They’ll hear us, then.”

Riddle bites, then sucks a bruise where his shoulder meets his neck, and Harry despairs at the thought of needing to cover it up later. “Not if you can be quiet.”

“But—”

“I suppose I could increase your salary, since you're so concerned,” Riddle tells him, and Harry can feel him smirk against his throat. “We could call it hazard pay, if you’d like.”

Harry thumps his head back to the desk. “Why are you always so _awful?”_

Riddle kisses down his spine, and Harry sighs, arching into his touch.

“It’s all part of the charm,” Riddle tells him, and Harry doesn’t need to look at him to know he must look unbearably smug.

“What charm?” Harry mutters, only to yelp, kicking out and just missing Riddle’s knee, when Riddle sticks his cold fingers against his inner thigh, pressed right against his skin.

“Careful, darling,” Riddle tells him, though he sounds more amused than angry.

Muffled against the desk, Harry says, “Get fucked.”

“Hmm.” This is the only warning he gets before Riddle palms both cheeks of his arse, spreading them. He shivers, shifting anxiously, not loving the feeling of being so exposed. “Not today.”

One slick finger prods at his hole, rubbing circles around the ring of muscle there.

Harry hisses in shock. “Did you finger a fucking ice cube right before this?” he demands.

“Don’t be absurd,” Riddle says, and Harry can hear the scowl in his voice. “I have issues with circulation.”

It strikes him that this is a ridiculous thing to talk about when someone is about to stick their fingers inside of you. “Oh?” Harry asks, grinning. “Is that gonna be a problem when we—”

Riddle shoves his finger into Harry’s arse.

Harry shuts up.

He grits his teeth, his hands reaching up to hold the edge of the desk in a white-knuckled grip. As Riddle prods deeper, crooking his finger, Harry does his best to get used to the stretch.

This isn’t the first time he’s been fucked.

It _is_ the first time he’s been fucked by a man like Riddle. He doesn’t know how far Riddle might push him, how considerate he’ll be.

It makes him nervous.

A second finger joins the first.

“Relax,” Riddle tells him as he fucks his fingers in and out of Harry’s hole, using his spare hand to stroke at his flank. With a shuddering sigh, Harry leans into the burn, settling into it as he relaxes as best as he can.

With a pleased hum, Riddle scissors his fingers, stretching him before he adds a third.

It’s the oddest thing he’s ever felt, right up until it isn’t.

As Riddle finds his prostate, he lets out a bitten off moan, squirming closer. He presses up onto his toes, lifting his arse higher, and tries to speak.

What comes out doesn’t qualify as a word. “Ngghhg.”

The sound feels punched out of him.

“What was that, darling?” Riddle asks, and Harry can hear the smirk in his voice.

Harry only shakes his head, clutching harder at the desk’s edge.

Eventually, Riddle must grow bored of the way Harry writhes on his fingers, because he pulls them free, leaving Harry to clench around nothing before he feels the blunt head of Riddle’s cock take their place, pressing against his hole.

“Ready?” Riddle asks, rubbing his cock against Harry’s arse, leaving a smear of pre come in its wake. For a moment, Harry wonders what Riddle would do if he said no.

But he doesn’t say no. He says, gasping with need, “Yes.”

Riddle holds his breath as he guides the head of his cock into Harry’s arse. He thrusts forward, and Harry’s hips jolt as he whines, trying to stay relaxed. Another thrust, and Riddle bends forward, covering Harry’s body with his own as he pants into Harry’s neck.

His hands grip Harry’s hips, hard enough to bruise, and Harry arches into it.

It feels like forever before Riddle’s cock is fully sheathed inside him.

For a long, breathless moment, Harry feels too full to breathe, too full to even think. And then Riddle moves.

He snaps his hips—sharp thrusts that punch the air from Harry’s lungs. As he jolts forward against the desk, he knows his thighs will be bruised later and can’t bring himself to care. Through the rising pressure, he hears Riddle speak. 

“You feel so good,” Riddle is saying to him, his mouth pressed to Harry’s skin.

Harry shudders, rocking his hips back into Riddle’s thrusts. When he groans, Riddle echoes him.

“I knew as soon as I saw you,” Riddle says, his breath hot against Harry’s neck. “I knew how perfect you’d feel around my cock.”

Harry flushes hotter at the words.

He turns his head, as if he could hide from the words, but there’s nowhere to go.

Riddle grunts, and his thrusts grow impossibly deeper as he slows. “I’d keep you here forever, if I could,” he says, and Harry squirms, desperate for friction as his own cock throbs at the words. “I’d keep you here, on my cock, and you’d love it. You’d _beg_ for it.”

Harry lets out a strangled moan at the thought, and Riddle bares his teeth in a grin, his teeth pressed against Harry’s throat.

He snaps his hips forward, nailing Harry’s prostate again and again in quick succession, and Harry arches beneath him, writhes against the desk, seeking any friction at all. He chokes on the pleasure, on Riddle’s thrusts, so deep he can feel them in his throat. His cock throbs again, pressure shifting, rising.

His grip strains against the edge of the desk, so tight he wonders if he might crack the wood.

He flexes up onto his toes, stretching, trembling.

He needs to come, so desperately he thinks he could die for it, but he doesn’t want this to stop.

But he can only hold off for so long. When he comes across Riddle’s desk, he bites down against his arm to muffle a shout. His back tenses as his hips jerk, and his arse clenches around Riddle’s cock.

He rides it out.

Wave after wave of hot, hazy pleasure, almost enough to blot out the feeling of Riddle fucking ruthlessly into him, chasing his own orgasm. He struggles to catch his breath, coming back down and all but melting into the desk. He sighs through the aftershocks of his orgasm, shivering at the maddening drag of Riddle’s cock in his arse.

He’s so full.

Finally, with a groan muffled into the skin of Harry’s throat, Riddle joins him over the edge.

His hips jerk gracelessly forward, and his hands clutch Harry’s hips in a bruising grip. Harry rocks back into his weakening thrusts, shuddering when Riddle’s softening cock slips free.

For a long moment, neither of them moves, too busy catching their breath.

Riddle relaxes his grip on Harry’s hips, massaging his broad palms up his ribs, down his thighs. Harry presses his damp forehead against the cool wood of the desk beneath him and uncurls his fingers from the desk's edge, stretching them as they ache.

When he thinks he’s capable of speech once more, he turns his head, pressing his cheek to the desk as he peers at Riddle’s face over his shoulder. “That was…”

He trails off. He doesn't have the words to describe it.

“Mhm.” Riddle sighs, shifting, lifting most of his weight off of Harry’s back.

When he pushes himself upright, Harry shivers at the rush of cool air against his sweat-slick back, which had been so warm pressed flush to Riddle’s chest. He hears Riddle collapse back into his chair, and his thigh twitches when Riddle presses two fingers against his skin, dragging them through the mess of come that’s slowly beginning to leak from his arse.

He can feel Riddle’s gaze burning into him.

The thought of him looking, taking in the sight of how he’s ruined Harry so thoroughly, makes his spent cock throb in interest, but it’s too soon to go again, and he knows it.

In the silence, he can hear the sound of the lights buzzing overhead, the creak of Riddle’s chair as he shifts.

The moment stretches.

“I was serious about the raise, by the way,” Riddle tells him, breaking it.

Harry snorts because he's too tired to laugh. He pushes himself slowly to back onto his feet, trying his best not to wince. When pain sparks deep in his lower back, in his arse, he wobbles, and Riddle reaches out to steady him, his hands fitting perfectly over the already darkening bruises on his hips.

As dignified as possible when he can feel Riddle’s come drying on his arse and between his thighs, he says, “I’ll take it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't write smut often and it shows. 
> 
> if you have any constructive criticism, please don't hesitate to give it!! 
> 
>   
> ALSO: chapter two will consist of two extra scenes, one significantly shorter than the other, which i wrote in my initial draft but decided to take out because they didn't quite fit anywhere


	2. extras

**1\. Feel better**

On one notable occasion, Riddle stalks out of the lift with a thunderous look on his face, his tie undone and his dark hair in disarray, as if he’d been running his hands through it for the past hour.

He slams the door to his office behind him. Then he opens it again and sticks his head out, snapping for Harry to join him. When Harry stands from his desk, he feels the pitying looks of his colleagues on his back as they peer over the tops of their cubicles, curious.

And he deserves their pity, he thinks.

On that day, he finds himself pressed face-first into the wall of Riddle's office with Riddle’s tie shoved in his mouth and his trousers pooled at his feet as Riddle fucks furiously into him, his teeth buried in Harry’s shoulder.

He doesn't last long.

“Feel better?” Harry asks lightly once Riddle's finished.

Riddle snorts, as if he’s disgusted by the world. “Marginally,” he says.

Then, before Harry can say anything more, he's turned around and slung over Riddle’s shoulder. After crossing the short distance to his desk, Riddle lays him across it and proceeds to give him what might just be the best blowjob he’s ever received.

As Harry stares up at the ceiling, his face flushed and his stomach streaked with his own come, Riddle grins down at him, sharklike. “Now I feel better.”

He goes home that day with hand shaped bruises on his hips, a monster of a love bite on his shoulder that will be hell to cover up later, and a limp that forces him to stay at his desk until everyone else has gone home for the day.

It’s worth it.

**2\. Accommodation**

And then one day, Riddle takes it even further, keeping Harry on his knees for hours as he works, his cock heavy in Harry’s mouth. Every so often, he’ll run his long fingers through Harry’s hair, petting at his cheek, tracing one finger across his lips.

The longer he stays there, the easier it gets, a pleasant sort of fog overtaking him as he rests his cheek against Riddle’s clothed thigh and lets his eyes drift shut, suckling absently.

Riddle groans in pleasure, stretching his legs wider, shifting his hips forward. He palms the back of Harry’s head, pushing down, and Harry accommodates. He curls his tongue around the shaft, relaxing his throat as he focuses on not choking around him.

When he opens his eyes, he sees Riddle’s head is tossed back against his chair.

His hips shift, little thrusts that push his hardening cock deeper into his mouth, into his throat, and Harry whines as his eyes burn with tears. At the sound, Riddle groans again, his hand clenching into a fist in Harry’s hair as he holds him in place, and the stinging pain in his scalp is grounding.

“Just a bit more,” Riddle tells him, breathless. “You can take it, can’t you?”

Harry shudders, pressing his tongue flat to the underside of Riddle’s cock, as if he could push it out of his mouth. He feels lightheaded, dizzy, and he isn’t sure if it’s the lack of air or his own rising arousal.

Maybe it’s both.

Riddle’s hips snap forward without warning, forcing the last of his length past Harry’s lips, and this time, Harry _does_ choke, coughing around Riddle’s cock as his tears finally spill down his cheeks. Riddle holds him there, and Harry presses his palms to Riddle’s thighs in a useless attempt to pull free as he grinds his cock deeper into Harry’s fluttering throat. He whines again, his vision blurred, and Riddle finally takes pity, pulling him off his cock.

He lifts Harry’s head free, and Harry leans into his hand.

He sits back on his heels, his chest heaving, gasping for breath as he tries to stop coughing. Once he’s caught his breath and forced back the threat of gagging, Riddle uses his grip on Harry’s hair to pull him closer again, to hold him still and feed his cock back into his mouth.

Harry moans in protest as the head of Riddle’s cock passes over his tongue.

Riddle shushes him, petting his cheek, wiping away a stray tear. “You’re doing so well, darling,” he says, and Harry shivers.

As he sucks Riddle deeper, his whole body feels hot, almost uncomfortably so.

His jaw aches.

When he clenches his eyes shut, Riddle tsks. His hips still, and he holds Harry in place, his cock just shy of hitting the back of his throat. Harry whines around him, trying to suck him deeper.

“None of that, now,” Riddle scolds, tapping one finger against Harry’s cheek. “Open your eyes for me, hm?”

Taking a shallow breath through his nose, Harry forces his eyes back open.

He tries to imagine what he must look like, here on his knees before Riddle. His shirt unbuttoned and pushed down off his shoulders. His face flushed, cheeks covered in tears, a smear of drool and pre come down his chin. His eyes wet, wide.

Whatever he looks like, Riddle is clearly enjoying it.

“You’re so good for me, darling,” Riddle tells him, caressing his cheek. Harry hums in pleasure at the soft touch. “You were made for this, weren’t you? To take my cock, to please me.”

Harry shivers, the words uncoiling something deep in his gut.

His whole body flushes. He shifts on his knees, desperate to grind against something, anything.

Riddle pulls him down again, and the heavy slide of his cock is easier this time. He fucks into Harry’s throat with slow, smooth strokes, languishing in the feeling. Harry lets him, holding himself still, open.

He says, “It must have been fate, that we met that day.”

Harry moans around him, as best as he can with a cock lodged down his throat, and Riddle’s hips jump, breaking his rhythm. He says, grinning with a flush high on his cheeks, “I’m glad you agree.”

He’s just opened his mouth again when the phone rings.

He stills. When Harry tries to pull back, to pull away, Riddle doesn’t let him. He stares down at Harry, his wide-eyed surprise shifting into something new.

The phone is still ringing.

“Can you be good for me, darling,” Riddle asks, an eager light in his eyes. “Can you stay quiet?”

Harry manages a questioning noise, but Riddle ignores him.

As he reaches for the phone, Harry finally understands what he means to do. He shakes his head as best he can with Riddle’s fist still clenched in his hair. Though he makes no sound, Riddle shushes him again.

“Be good,” he says, and then he answers his phone, putting it on speaker.

As if through water, Harry hears Riddle and the man who called exchange pleasantries. He thinks he might be impressed that Riddle can sound so put together when he’s getting his cock sucked, but mostly he feels fuzzy with panic, or something like it. He trembles at Riddle’s feet, and Riddle pets a soothing hand through his hair, drawing him back to earth.

“—new secretary?” he hears the man on the phone ask.

Riddle smirks, still petting Harry’s hair, and says, “I did. Miss Parkinson quit rather unexpectedly, and I knew the higher-ups wouldn’t leave me alone until I found myself a new one.”

“And how is she?”

Harry's eyes narrow at the assumption, and Riddle rolls his eyes. “He, actually,” Riddle corrects.

“Shame, that,” the man says with an obnoxious chuckle. “How is he, then? Not too intolerable, I hope.”

Riddle pauses, as if thinking it over. “He’s… adequate.”

Harry makes a muffled, outraged noise of protest around the cock in his mouth, and Riddle tugs at his hair in warning before stroking his hand down Harry’s cheek. Harry settles, glaring up at him when he sees Riddle’s smirk.

“Well, Albus has told me all about your new, sunny disposition, so I suppose he must be doing something right.”

“Excuse me?” Riddle sounds offended. “My _what?”_

The man on the phone chuckles. “Come now, Tom,” he says. “You can spare a compliment for the boy, I won’t tell.”

Harry bristles at being called _boy_ , but there’s little he can do to protest with Riddle still holding him in place. At the very least, he’s pleased by the idea that he’s had a soothing effect on Riddle’s blunt, blistering attitude.

“If I must,” Riddle says grudgingly. He traces one finger across Harry’s lips, stretched around his cock, and they tingle at his touch. He’s going to need so much chapstick later. “I suppose he suits me well. He’s quite accommodating, willing to bend over… backwards to please me.”

Bastard, Harry thinks. He glares harder.

In response, Riddle smiles meanly and thrusts, forcing his cock against the back of Harry’s throat. Harry gags, his chest heaving, too surprised to relax into it, and it’s only sheer force of will that keeps him from coughing and ruining the game as reflexive tears spill down his cheeks. When Riddle eases him back, just enough to let Harry breathe, to recover, he rubs his cheek roughly against the fabric of Riddle’s trousers, his eyes clenched shut.

He’s lucky Harry didn’t vomit right into his lap.

“Good, good,” the man on the phone is saying. Harry opens his eyes again when Riddle rubs his thumb across his cheek. “I’m pleased to hear it, Tom. You’ve always had the worst luck with secretaries.

Riddle smirks, and Harry can tell just by looking at him that he’s about to say something awful again. Not bloody likely, he thinks before he presses his teeth to Riddle's cock, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind him that he can.

Riddle’s breath catches, and the hand not holding Harry in place twitches before clenching into a fist that he presses to his mouth. His blush darkens and spreads.

His hips thrust forward, as if of their own accord

_Interesting._

“Tom?” the man on the phone asks. “Are you still there?”

Harry tucks this new knowledge away as he stares up at Riddle, watching him recover.

“Yes,” Riddle says, his voice noticeably less smooth. “Sorry, Horace, I was distracted for a moment. Email. You know how it is.”

The man, Horace, chuckles. “Indeed I do. In fact, just yesterday—”

Harry would laugh, if he could. Instead, he curls his tongue along Riddle’s cock, bobbing forward then back again, sucking softly enough that he won’t be heard through the phone.

“Actually, Horace,” Riddle says hurriedly, interrupting the man’s story. “I’m so sorry to do this, but something’s come up. Can I call you back?”

“Oh,” Horace says, startled. “Well. Yes, I suppose—”

“Excellent.” Riddle is already reaching for the phone again. “I’ll speak to you soon.”

He hangs up as Horace is saying his goodbye.

As soon as the call is ended, he grips Harry’s head with both hands and thrusts, forcing his cock down Harry’s throat and staring down at him with wild eyes. He shivers, but he doesn't choke this time. Instead, he swallows, clenching his throat before he relaxes, pleased by his reaction. 

“You fucking. Brat,” Riddle accuses breathlessly, his words punctuated by his thrusts.

When Harry presses forward in his hold to meet him, his lips curl in a snarl as his hips snap faster, fucking Harry’s throat in earnest.

He doesn’t know how much longer Riddle lasts, too caught up in the burn in his lungs, the way Riddle's cock moves in his throat, its heavy weight sliding against his tongue, to keep track.

When Riddle comes, he comes quietly, a hurt little noise escaping his mouth as he curls forward over Harry’s head in his lap, and his hips twitch forward with no rhythm at all. Harry eases back, swallowing what he can as the rest of Riddle’s come spurts into his open mouth, across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

He takes Riddle’s cock in hand, grip firm as he works him through his orgasm.

Riddle slumps back in his chair, and his grip on Harry’s head, already weak, shifts until he’s cradling Harry’s face in his hands, looking down at him with the softest expression Harry has seen him wear yet.

He rubs one gentle thumb through the mess of come and tears below Harry’s eye.

Harry leans into the touch.

He feels as if his entire throat is bruised. When he speaks, he sounds utterly wrecked. “So,” he says. He licks his lips, collecting Riddle's come on his tongue. “How's _that_ for accommodating?”

Riddle only groans, his head falling back against his chair, and Harry grins, pleased with himself.

They’re not keeping score, but he thinks he may have won this round.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> both of these scenes would have taken place after the end of the first chapter. i decided to take them out because i couldn't find a way to link them together, but since i'd already done the work to write them, i figured i'd still share them 
> 
> also smut is exhausting and it's gonna be at _least_ another month before i give it another go


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